


Beyond These Strange Times

by bloodsongs



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Community: kinkme_merlin, M/M, Modern AU, Modern/Fantasy fusion, Teenagers being extremely silly and eventually incredibly badass, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 14:57:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsongs/pseuds/bloodsongs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shy and awkward, Merlin doesn’t mingle much with the other orphans except when his best friend, Will, comes around to tease him about anything and everything. He prefers the company of books with their strange, fantastic stories and fading pages.</p><p>One day, a new boy shows up at the orphanage. Arthur's an arrogant prat, a little bit charming (you didn’t hear that last bit from Merlin) and utterly convinced that he’s a prince from a different and magical world called Camelot. He's equally convinced that Merlin’s his destined warlock of prophecy, and that they are meant to defeat the evil plaguing Camelot together in order to take back Arthur's throne and restore his kingdom to its former glory. Merlin just thinks Arthur's delusional.</p><p>And then they end up in Camelot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond These Strange Times

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/32238.html?thread=32644334#t32644334) at Kink Me! Merlin.

“Coming for lunch, Merlin?” Will asks, hanging back around the corner, all stubbornness and concern. “I won’t have the girls looking at me as though I don’t feed you, you always forget to eat the things we save for you when you stay here.”

“I don’t even know how they’ve taken it upon themselves to make sure I’ve eaten or something,” Merlin laughs, setting the book he’s reading down and adjusting his glasses carefully, just so it’s perched in that artsy-looking way that makes him look a bit like an inquisitive owl. Will never stops getting annoyed by it, so Merlin never stops doing it, just because. 

“The way they go on, you’d think I’m a little baby bird who’ll swoon and die right here on this table if they so much as look away from me for a few seconds. I’m fine, Will, I just have to finish this book—“

Will scoffs and shoves at Merlin lightly, cutting him off. “This isn’t even the book you were reading yesterday. You’ve finished that one already? As for the girls, they dote on you; you know that.” He pauses and tilts his head, as if looking at Merlin in an entirely new light. “What do you know, you do look a little like a bird from this angle. Goodness knows you’ve the messy hair for it. And how many times have I told you to straighten your glasses?” He reaches out and rearranges Merlin’s frames, earning a chuckle even as Merlin swats at him.

“Piss off,” Merlin says amiably, and Will laughs with him. “Tell the girls I’ll swipe something from the kitchen later when Sister Anita’s not watching over the leftovers like a hawk. Go have your hundred helpings, Will, you utter pig — I’ll see you later.” 

“Suit yourself!” Will calls out as he runs through the dingy corridor, his footsteps fading. Merlin shakes his head and leans back in his chair, humming as he turns another yellow page of the musty book in his hands. He’d found it just this morning when he’d rummaged excitedly through the newest batch of donated books some charities had taken to their orphanage. 

It’s a fantasy story, as always, a tale of a young boy, unloved by his family who wanders through the woods to find himself in a fantastic and fascinating world so different from his own. The child makes friends in this strange new environment, gets to meet talking animals and dragons who speak in maddening riddles. Merlin doesn’t know how the story ends yet, but he’s getting there.

He’s not a complete dreamer, and Merlin’s long grown past the time he was once a wide-eyed believer, thinking he’d find those of the fey in their backyard or that he’d be able to ride a dragon one day, soaring above the countryside. Even so, a small part of him clings to the notion that there is magic in the world, that there are things and worlds out there to be discovered. 

Truths that are beyond his wildest imaginings. Will teases him for it sometimes, elbows him and says ridiculous things like, “What, am I not enough for a prince for you that you must pine after a make-believe one between the dusty words of a novel?” Merlin’s so used to it now he doesn’t even bother replying, he just rolls his eyes before grabbing the nearest sodden rag or something to throw expertly at Will’s head. 

Some people call those who read fiction and fantasy escapists. Perhaps Merlin is one, to a point. Will is his best friend in a building full of other teenagers and young children just like themselves, alone in the world but for the sisters, the patrons and benefactors of the orphanage who chose to care for them; the other children don’t really play with Merlin, believing him to be bookish and shy. 

They’re right on both counts, and Merlin doesn’t mind letting them continue thinking so. The girls really do fuss over him, always have ever since he was a wee thing, and they’re still doing that after his growth spurt even while Merlin tries to get accustomed to his new awkwardness and long limbs.

Will’s all right, but he’s known Will since they’d first ended up in the orphanage together after the terrible fire that’d burned down their homes in their childhood, so that probably doesn’t count. They don’t have much in common now that they’ve stumbled right into being teenagers and discovering different interests — Merlin dove deeper into his books as he grew older, while Will enjoyed footie with the boys and other sports — but he still adores Will fiercely, and knows it to be true for the other way around as well even while they hide their affection behind the most outrageous, creative insults and hair-ruffling attacks.

Escapism or not, Merlin just likes reading. When he closes his eyes between reading certain passages, envisioning a clearing of a forest or the breathtaking view of a caste in his mind as per the author’s description… it’s an indescribable feeling, having his chest tighten in anticipation and wonder, visualising the small details of a scene, imagining characters interacting with one another with their animated gestures and excited words, imagining the hustle and bustle of a fictional village. 

There’s a different kind of magic to reading books, Merlin thinks, one that’s real and wonderful and accessible to everyone should they choose to pick up a novel. 

He likes to act scenes out, sometimes, from the books he reads. Merlin sneaks a cursory glance towards the door, face flushing a little from embarrassment, and then he’s taking a deep breath when he turns the page to where the character is talking to a stranger he met in the woods. 

“‘What do you mean, someone has this forest in thrall?’” Merlin reads out loud, dramatic and indignant like how he imagine the protagonist must be, lost and frustrated in the forest, but he underscores the wonder he must be experiencing, too, the anger that someone would want to enslave creatures of such a beautiful land. 

He continues, dropping his voice as he segues into narrator-mode. “The boy feels sad at the revelation. That would explain the deaths, the haunted looks of the animals he’d spoken to.” Merlin shifts his tone to emulate that of the righteous, confused boy again. “‘That’s terrible, the dragons — can’t they do something about this? They’re the guardians,’ he asks, clenching his fists tightly.”

He reads through several of the animals’ lines and then, raising his voice and standing up to spread his arms wide, Merlin declares loudly, “‘This injustice will not do!’ Peter cried. ‘I will save Ansa, and the wolves, and the friends I’ve made in this forest. This kingdom can’t be without their guardians. If no one will do it, I will!’”

“Do what?”

The amused, lilting voice that comes from behind him is so unexpected, Merlin trips over his chair’s legs when he whips around to take a look at the newcomer at the door and promptly falls to the floor in a noisy heap, upsetting the table and several other chairs to his side, as well. “Ow,” he intones, looking up to glare at the boy, who’s looking extremely unimpressed by Merlin’s lack of coordination. “Don’t sneak up on someone like that, you pillock!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the boy laughs, not sorry at all, eyes bright and cocksure. “I would’ve said something, I don’t know, but you seemed pretty immersed in your little acting session there, brandishing your book about like a sword and everything.”

Merlin colours. “How long were you standing there?” He demands, mortified.

The boy leans against the door, his hair messy and golden in the afternoon light. It shines weakly on him, giving him a soft, glowing look that’s rather ruined by his infuriating smirk. “Long enough.”

He’d probably seen everything, then. Well, Merlin’s embarrassed enough already as it is. “So?”

“Ah, no, it was exceedingly entertaining. You might’ve been a tad better than that disastrous troupe that rode through the kingdom last year; they fumbled all their lines. Dreadful.” Stalking in, the stranger pulls out a chair and sits down near Merlin, blue gaze intent on his. 

“Huh.” Merlin says, after a moment. There was something very odd about the boy’s words. “Are you being sarcastic?”

Furrowing his brow in confusion, the boy tilts his head at him. “Not at all. Why do you ask?”

“You said troupe, and kingdom. Nobody really,” he begins, stopping to reconsider what he’s said. “Nobody uses those words, these days.” 

The boy raises an eyebrow, conveying a myriad of insults with that simple arch.

Merlin snags the opportunity to take the piss out of this rude but strangely charming boy. “Do you even know what they mean? With a head as big as yours and everything, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was just made of hot air.”

He waits a while for that to register, and then the boy’s blushing in indignation as the meaning of his words sink in like a gleeful slap to those rosy cheeks. “Of course I — hey, you can’t talk to me like that!”

“Wow, really,” Merlin snipes back. “Who died and made you king?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the boy scoffs, standing up to shove at Merlin, but without any real heat. “My father’s not dead yet.”

There’s a pause.

“Excuse me?” He’s feeling very thrown, now. 

Laughing, the boy shakes his head, and just slings an arm about Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin blinks, wondering when the punchline’s going to be revealed. “For the great warlock they insisted you were,” he chuckles, “You’re really rather obtuse.”

There’s this weird sensation that he’s somehow lost control of the conversation, like he’s on a boat and he’s found himself suddenly adrift on turbulent waters with an endless horizon stretching out around him. It would probably be more accurate to say he doesn’t understand what’s going on here in the slightest. “Warlock. Is this some kind of joke?”

The boy pulls back and looks at him square in the eye, almost evaluating. Merlin looks right back at him, thoughts racing, wondering if he’d somehow fallen asleep in class and this is a strange and bizarre (although not particularly engaging) dream. 

“Huh,” the boy murmurs after a moment, an echo of Merlin earlier. “You don’t know.”

Irritated at how the conversation had taken a sudden sharp turn and left Merlin somewhere lying on the side of the road a good five minutes ago, Merlin snaps, “What  _don’t_  I know?”

Seemingly lost in thought, the boy hums quietly for a while, before abruptly brightening and clasping Merlin’s pale hands between his own. They feel calloused, rough, and Merlin finds it a pleasant sensation. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing we can do about that,” the boy remarks haughtily, and it hits Merlin, a completely absurd thought: the boy reminds him of a prince. Why? “You’ll come into your own later, you’ll learn, won’t you? You’ll become my warlock, you’ll fight by my side in battle. We’ll take up arms together and we’ll bring Camelot back to its former glory. It will be  _spectacular!_  ”

His little speech ends on a loud, glorious note, full of passion and conviction. Merlin stares, utterly gobsmacked at that. 

The boy is  _completely insane_.

“I’m Merlin,” he blurts out after a thick, awkward silence during which the boy looks at him expectantly, as if wanting him to join in the dramatics. How do you even respond to a tirade like that? Merlin holds out his hand, unsure if the boy will take it. “Um.”

When the golden-haired boy beams, it’s absurd and impossible on all counts, but to Merlin — it’s like his smile lights up the sunlit room even further. He takes Merlin’s hand and shakes it, firmly.

“Arthur.”

**Author's Note:**

> Right. I had a moment of epic indecision with regards to the posting of this fic because my betas/friends were split evenly between advising me against making this a chaptered fic and for making it a chaptered fic. I eventually took it down for a while for editing and reposted it. (headdesk) Ahem.
> 
> I'm not sure how long this will be, but I'll update it every other week if I can!


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